Industry of Last Resort: Negotiating Admissible Identities in "Leisurescape" Industrie touristique et spécificité culturelle : la problématique de ...
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Loisir et Société
Society and Leisure
Industry of Last Resort: Negotiating Admissible Identities in
“Leisurescape”
Industrie touristique et spécificité culturelle : la
problématique de Collingwood
Industria turística y especificidad cultural: El caso de
Collingwood en Ontario
Alan Law
Sport et activité physique : vie personnelle, sociale et économique Article abstract
Volume 24, Number 1, printemps 2001 This paper interprets Collingwood Ontario’s negotiation of “leisurescape” in
the context of global economic and cultural forces centering on the production
URI: https://id.erudit.org/iderudit/000171ar of rural places as playgrounds for the urban middle class. Host communities
DOI: https://doi.org/10.7202/000171ar that articulate “leisurescape” demanded by tourist resorts may certainly
negotiate economic and cultural benefits, as well as bear the costs. However,
negotiation of the place of “leisurescape” in relation to other sources of
See table of contents
community identity is mediated by the depth, and breadth of alternative
sources as well as the existence of platforms upon which symbolic negotiation
can take place. Located in the literatures on urban gentrification and cultural
Publisher(s) commodification, the paper follows discourse converging on three symbolic
“crises” centered on the community’s definitive shipyard site. It is argued that
Presses de l’Université du Québec
communities are not necessarily consigned to become opaque mirrors of the
tourist gaze. Rather, resort development can stimulate the conscious
ISSN negotiation of community symbols, potentially capable of co-locating industry
0705-3436 (print) and leisurescapes.
1705-0154 (digital)
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Cite this note
Law, A. (2001). Industry of Last Resort: Negotiating Admissible Identities in
“Leisurescape”. Loisir et Société / Society and Leisure, 24(1), 283–310.
https://doi.org/10.7202/000171ar
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https://www.erudit.org/en/INDUSTRY OF LAST RESORT:
NEGOTIATING ADMISSIBLE IDENTITIES
IN “LEISURESCAPE”
Alan LAW
Trent University
Introduction
The mayor of Collingwood is too tourist oriented and seems to think that
Collingwood can survive with tourists. He’s dead wrong because it’s the local
man that made Collingwood what it is. (Norm Low, 1986)
After more than 130 years, Collingwood was losing its definitive shipyard.
The most immediate and “obvious” move was to embrace tourism generated by
Collingwood’s location on Georgian Bay and at the foot of the Niagara escarpment.
Whitson (1999) has argued that many de-industrialized rural communities are
becoming gentrified, with urban newcomers and tourist visitors moving in and
“taking over”, at the expense of preexisting lifestyles. As a step toward exploring
some of the cultural implications of Whitson’s claims, this paper argues that
gentrification and commodification of communities does not always involve a
complete writing out of identities that contradict subsequent “leisurescape.”
Cartier (1998) used the term “leisurescape” to refer to the transformation
of real places with locally resonant meaning, to places which evoke consumption
of locality by tourists in ways that do not extend too deeply into local meaning
structures. For Canadian rural communities experiencing growth in economic
importance of tourism generated by their positions in naturally beautiful locations,
leisurescape carries the potential to overwrite other interpretations of place which
emphasize productive capacity and the pragmatic needs of it’s working class
constituents (“industryscape”).
Loisir et société / Society and Leisure
Volume 24, numéro 1, printemps 2001, p. 283-310 • © Presses de l’Université du Québec
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Tiré de : Loisir et société / Society and Leisure, vol. 24, no 1, Gaétan Ouellet et André Thibault (dir.).284 Alan LAW
Struggles over interpretation of Collingwood as a “tourist” town or an
“industry” town were readily observable in discourse surrounding utilization of
it’s harbourfront property owned by Canadian Steamship Lines (CSL). The case
is presented as an historical narrative, which utilizes discourse found in the local
press, public meetings, available official documents, and personal observation over
an 18-month period. The course of debate over “leisurescape” vs. “industryscape”
is traced through three sequential crises involving symbols of community
identification spanning fourteen years ending in June 2000: the closing of Colling-
wood’s shipyard, the proposed hotel and marina development of the shipyard site,
and finally the interpretation of community in the face of Intrawest’s ski hill
development. Discursive struggles centered on the continued relevance of
manufacturing industry to Collingwood’s sense of independence and regional
preeminence in the face of growing pressure for renovation of physical landscape
to suit the “new economy.” It is argued that the approximately 100-year-old
tradition of manufacturing in Collingwood which delivered well-paid and reason-
ably steady employment, regional preeminence as well as a sense of self-produced
independence, provided the economically backed cultural resources to resist
complete reinterpretation consequent with consumption of Collingwood as
“leisurescape.”
Further, it is argued that the entry of a potentially dominating ski tourist resort
development into the region acted as catalyst to produce a platform upon which
negotiation of Collingwood’s identity could be overtly conducted at the symbolic
level. In distinction to claims that global economic and cultural forces annihilate
local culture, it is argued that these same forces can initiate conscious negotiation
and potential settlement of antagonisms between identity interests.
The following review develops this argument through literatures on the
impacts of tourism on local communities. First, literatures on gentrification and
commodification of place are canvassed to identify key dynamics associated with
the confrontation of local icons of community with leisurescapes, built to articulate
new settler and tourist interests. Second, the postmodern literature is employed
to characterize and implicate the resort architecture recently adopted at nearby Blue
Mountain resorts. Third, arguments are addressed that center on the possibility of
cultural resistance.
Literature review
Found primarily within the urban geography literature, “gentrification” refers to
the displacement of the working class from inner urban areas by middle-class
renovators. At the cultural level, researchers point to relations of signification
wherein middle-class romanticism delegitimates working-class pragmatism by
recovering artifacts of architecture and landscape (Caulfield, 1989; Ley, 1986 and
1987; Suchar, 1992; Williams, 1986). Through restoration and reconstruction,
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Tiré de : Loisir et société / Society and Leisure, vol. 24, no 1, Gaétan Ouellet et André Thibault (dir.).Industry of Last Resort: Negotiating Admissible Identities in “Leisurescape” 285
these artifacts and the relations they mediate get “reindexed” (Rojek, 1997) from
modernity’s lived pragmatism back to a pioneering promise. Refusing their
genealogy, bourgeois interpretations of the problems, agonies and vulgarities of
modernity are erased or rearranged in a manner that celebrates the power of
consumption to disconnect social relations rooted in production. Variously
expressed as “neo-archaism” (Lees, 1994, p. 147) or “revivalism” (Bondi, 1992),
the point is made that gentrification involves the re-situating of place icons within
frameworks of interpretation external to the lived relations of residents threatening
that framework. While gentrification works to discursively occupy a location
through residential reinterpretation, the commodification of place packages
“heritage” for commercial distribution.
Proponents of the heritage commodification thesis argue that authentic
culture (culture produced “naturally” or in absence of intended image “production”)
is marginalized in favor of what the host thinks the tourist wants. This represents
a reification or commodification of culture, alienated from its producer by a host
of place sales personnel (Greenwood, 1977; Hughes, 1992). Recovered histories
act as “culture brokers,” which match the transaction goals of both producers and
consumers (Nuryanti, 1996). The market becomes the purveyor of what counts
as history, authentic or otherwise (Ashworth and Tunbridge, 1990; Ehrentraut,
1993; Hall, 1994). A heritage object operates to discursively articulate pasts to suit
contemporary projection of place (Crang, 1994; Johnson, 1999).
The urban gentrification and tourism commodification literatures converge
in their critiques of the symbolic consumption of place, which distorts the lived
relations between place and its long-standing inhabitants. The present analysis
attempts to situate resort development in a Canadian rural community simultaneously
as extensions of urban gentrification and as vehicles of commodification, which
operate in a mutually reinforcing manner. Before proceeding to locate this
argument in literature that returns a modicum of agency to host communities, it
is appropriate to examine works which implicate the role of world-class resort
architecture in the transformation of place to leisurescape.
Contemporary literature has pointed to the importance of symbolic
vagueness as a property of post-tourism in attempts to resonate, but not specify
place, making it more amenable to consumption by international tourists (e.g.
Stevenson, 1999, and Thorns, 1997). Though Collingwood’s tourist draw is
primarily regional extending into Toronto, the development underway at nearby
Blue Mountain is styled as a world-class ski resort employing architectural imagery
reminiscent of 19th century Ontario. Blue Mountain now offers a “total mountain
experience” delivered by consumption of the “leisurescape” represented in the
surrounding natural and selected architectural terrains which reads out the 20th
century, practices that have been referred to as appropriation (Macnaghten and
Urry, 1998).
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Tiré de : Loisir et société / Society and Leisure, vol. 24, no 1, Gaétan Ouellet et André Thibault (dir.).286 Alan LAW
Several authors have also commented on the role of themed architecture in
resorts as a way of maintaining the fiction of the tourist experience, particularly
for the baby boomers who are reflexive of their own impact on local cultures
(Mordue, 1999). Critical focus is placed on how spaces create an active agreement
between producer and consumer about the fiction of artifacts that resonate themes
evocative of shared memories transported to contemporary interpretations of place
(Johnson, 1999; Abali and Onder, 1990; Sternberg, 1997; Beardsworth and
Bryman, 1999). As Boniface and Fowler (1993) argue, this global tourist “product”
is not as homogenous in its overt representation as the Macdonalization (Ritzer,
1993; Ritzer and Liska, 1997) thesis would have it, but rather is heterogeneously
evocative of distinctive place. The success of that heterogeneity is, however,
dependent on its placement on a uniformity of infrastructure designed to maintain
the fiction of the theme and provides the client with an “ontological security” (Lash
and Urry, 1994) blanket. Places must be distinctive, but they also have to be safe,
clean and exclusive environments, capable of simultaneously immersing and
insulating the tourist. Bryman (1999) also alludes to this demand in his discussion
of the popularity of “dedifferentiated consumption.”1 It is argued here that world-
class resort development not only occupies the space it is physically built on (in the
present case a piece of the Niagara escarpment), but also occupies the surrounding
territory in demands for consonance with projected themes.
Several authors have cautioned against a-priori negative interpretations of
alterations in community identities attendant on tourism development. First,
gentrification and commodification can lead to material benefits to be enjoyed by
residents and tourists alike. Residents also get to use improved roads, parks, paving
and police services. Residents also get to enjoy new public spaces as well as
development of historical sites they otherwise would not have been able to afford,
or at least would not have made a municipal spending priority (Chang et al., 1996).
In other words, the commodification of place can mean enhancements that need
negotiating between tourists’ needs for symbolic consumption and locals’ need
for urban improvement of “zones of discard” (Chang, 1997). Small rural commun-
ities are pragmatic if anything. Second, “authentic” community identities are not
static or necessarily singular. Cultural practices change and alter over time as
communities change with internal and external influences. The “production” of
authenticity, quasi or otherwise, could be seen as an authentic act in the expression
of those who are now tourist hosts, and “… new meanings may be added to old
ones which persevere into new situations” (Cohen, 1988). Third, Waldren (1997)
was careful to point out that communities can successfully resist the loss or
alteration of their indigenous referents by incorporating in, and/or distancing
“others” from, locally developed frameworks of meaning. In other words, commun-
ities contain resources that enable successful resistance to cultural commodification
potentially enabling “relocalization” (Urry, 1995) in the face of globalizing forces.
While methods of maintaining such cultural integrity vary between communities,
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Tiré de : Loisir et société / Society and Leisure, vol. 24, no 1, Gaétan Ouellet et André Thibault (dir.).Industry of Last Resort: Negotiating Admissible Identities in “Leisurescape” 287
our attention is drawn to the ways in which communities write their own inter-
pretations and negotiation of expanding leisurescape, rather than simply focusing
on how communities get written over by gentrification and commodification.
In summary, we argue that a host community’s negotiation of the terms of
symbolic and material relationships with those consuming place as a leisurescape
are mediated by the ability of that community to negotiate the integrity of it’s
constitutive icons. In the case of Collingwood, community diversification over
fifteen years meant substantial fragmentation of defining icons from which
negotiation could take place. We argue that the march of gentrification and
commodification was slowed by the insistence, on the part of some citizen groups,
on the continuing importance of historical symbols of Collingwood’s industrial
capacity, and thus it’s distinctiveness from the surrounding communities of Wasaga
Beach and the Town of the Blue Mountains. The announcement of Intrawest’s
intended development served as a catalyst for creation of a platform upon which
definitive symbols were negotiated, consolidated and rendered as filters through
which material relationships with the resort, surrounding communities and indeed
constitutive community members are to be pursued.
We now turn to the historical narrative upon which the above claims rest.
The first section traces the rise and fall of Collingwood’s shipbuilding industry
with particular emphasis on the crisis of identity that the closure of the yard
produced. The second section traces the contours of debate over proposed
condominium development of the subsequently vacant harbor-front property. The
third section canvasses Collingwood’s negotiation of defining icons in the face
of Intrawest’s resort development.
Shipbuilding as Dominant Identity
The town’s economy was almost totally dependent on the shipyards. Years
ago, some merchants used to gauge their ordering by the length of the order
book at the Collingwood Shipyards. (EB, 27/8/1986, p. 3a(ii))
Collingwood was incorporated as a town in 1858. The region surrounding
the town had developed small pockets of settlement since the late 19th century.
East of Collingwood, Wasaga Beach had established itself as a summer beach
resort and agriculture dominated the region north and west of Collingwood (now
known as the Town of the Blue Mountains). Located on the shores of Georgian
Bay on Lake Huron, Collingwood’s harbor made it the logical location for
establishment of a rail terminus serving as a transport link from southern Ontario
to northern Great Lakes communities and more importantly the larger industrial
areas of Montreal and Chicago. The terminus stimulated the development of a
fledgling logging industry as well as grain and fruit agriculture. Along with the
growth of passenger and goods traffic, Collingwood’s harbor began to develop
necessary infrastructure to service and maintain the increasing volume of ships
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Tiré de : Loisir et société / Society and Leisure, vol. 24, no 1, Gaétan Ouellet et André Thibault (dir.).288 Alan LAW
as well as improve the shipping-rail connection. Different economic bases and
independent municipal authorities served to provide references for cultural and
political distinctions that demarcated lines of competition for regional preeminence.
While minor shipbuilding had been occurring from 1858 with the launching
of The Brothers, a wooden schooner, the completion of a dry-dock in 1883 marked
the beginning of Collingwood’s primary identity as a shipbuilding town expected
to grow along with east-west goods and materials traffic. The Toronto Daily Mail
commented that “it is doubtful if there is a town on the continent prouder of herself
and her achievements than Collingwood is today” (Arp, 1983). Though the
fledgling yard underwent several ownership changes between 1883 and 1900, most
of Collingwood’s civic boosters identified the harbor and its terminus as the major
asset to draw manufacturing industry and diversify the economy from its trading
base. However, with the development of capacity to build steel ships, that industry
became the dominant player in the city, certainly worthy of a $50,000 grant from
the town of Collingwood to support the expansion of its dry-dock. By 1905, 200
people were working at the shipyard. By 1918, this number had risen to 1700 (some
of which were producing munitions).
Although several light manufacturing industries located at Collingwood
throughout the first half of the 20th century, shipbuilding remained the Town’s
pride. The spectacular side-launches, necessary when ships began to “outgrow”
the dry dock and a practice continued to the very last ship, were attended by the
entire town and usually other dignitaries eager to observe the results of a healthy
shipbuilding industry (Woodcock, 1983). Each ship marked the community’s
ingenuity and collective hard work. Shipbuilding was not only the most important
industry in terms of economic independence, but also evidence that the Town was
worthy of further manufacturing investment. Whenever they visited, dignitaries
were greeted with Collingwood’s shipping capability. With slogans on banners
such as “let us build the ships that carry the grain that feeds the mouths of the
multitudes” (Arp, 1983) and mayoral invitations to visit the yards as the showpiece
of “the manufacturing possibilities of this town” (Arp, 1983), Collingwood
optimistically styled itself as an industrial center capable of rivaling Chicago. The
shipyard not only provided work for Collingwood, it provided a heroic identity
for its workers and the community as a whole. The constant reminder of a large
ship at the end of Collingwood’s main street served as the town’s signifier.
Though badly affected by the Great Depression, production of mine sweeper,
cargo and combat vessels kept the yard busy during the war years. Of any of
Collingwood’s over 200 ships, the 19 Corvet destroyers stand large in collective
memory. These were not only big ships built by heroic industrialists, they were
symbols of Canadian industrial ability and contribution to the maritime war. After
the war, new fleets were demanded for expanding Great Lake trade. In response,
Collingwood expanded its harbor capacity to handle the 730-foot lakers now
needed (Gillham, 1981).
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Tiré de : Loisir et société / Society and Leisure, vol. 24, no 1, Gaétan Ouellet et André Thibault (dir.).Industry of Last Resort: Negotiating Admissible Identities in “Leisurescape” 289
The postwar period saw a reasonably steady supply of contracts to keep the
shipyard and associated industries that grew up around it. During the mid-sixties,
Canadian Steamship Lines (CSL) bought the shipyard. With the rise of road
transport and decline of Great Lake shipping in the 1970’s and 1980’s, Canada
found itself with a surplus of ships. Unable to compete with Asian countries for
the building of supertankers, due to harbor limitations and labour costs, the
shipyard closed its doors for the last time in September of 1986. Ironically, the
same year that Intrawest purchased Blackcomb, as it’s first ski resort.
By 1985, the shipyards had gone four years without a fresh contract and had
nothing concrete in sight apart from work to be completed on current commitments.
However, expecting to secure Federal contracts for ten minesweepers in addition
to smaller contracts, the community remained optimistic that looming lay-offs
would merely be part of the usual economic cycle (Enterprise Bulletin [EB], 20/
3/1985). In April of 1985, an estimated 2,000 people (EB, 24/4/85, p. 1a) turned
out to watch Collingwood’s ritual celebration of its place in global industry, and
the industrial heroism of its shipyard workers, touted by the M.V. Paterson’s owner
and namesake as the “best in the world” (EB, 24/4/85, p.10a). Although assistance
had been hinted at through extension of the Federal Shipbuilding Industry
Assistance Program (SIAP), the 1986 Federal budget contained no extension of
grant, subsidy assistance or minesweeper contracts for the Collingwood shipyard
(EB, 24/4/85, p. 1a; 5/3/1986; 19/2/1986). Canada was clearly realigning its industrial
strategy to reduce shipbuilding.
During the year prior to the closure in June 1986, shipyard workers were
feeling the pinch. They had accepted wage rollbacks (offset with a delivery bonus)
and were discouraged from WCB claims due to the rising cost of insurance (EB,
5/6/1985; 3/7/1985). Throughout 1985 and 1986, particularly following the loss
of ship conversion, fire repair, and destroyer bids and contracts, Collingwood’s
“agony” spurred local politicians and shipyard elite’s to shift tactics and demand
help from Queens Park and Ottawa (EB, 2/4/86, p. 4a; 16/10/1985; 18/6/86).
Official letters, delegations, personal representations, and the attention of
opposition politicians merely produced the promise of a “fact finding mission”
which never occurred. (EB 5/3/1985, p. 1a; 5/3/1985, p. 3a (i-ii); 30/4/1986;
13/11/1985;15/1/86; 5/3/86; 2/4/1986; 11/6/86). The launching of the Sir Wilfred
Laurier in July of 1985 was the last for Collingwood.
Shipbuilding in Collingwood had not gone down without a sustained and
energetic fight from the community and reactions to the closure were as expected.
Terms such as “shock,” “dismay,” “shame,” “bereaved,” “deep sense of loss,” and
“anger” were used to describe feelings about the end of Collingwood’s defining
industry (EB, 1986, p. 1a (i)). The town would never again hear the sound of steel
being worked by the hands of its heroes living out the community’s identity of
over a hundred years. Amid lamentations that the shipyard “is part of our very
being” (EB, 27/8/86, p. 2a), townspeople scrambled to salvage relics. Yard
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Tiré de : Loisir et société / Society and Leisure, vol. 24, no 1, Gaétan Ouellet et André Thibault (dir.).290 Alan LAW
“memorabilia” comprising paintings of ships, mounted photographs of the yard,
memorial crockery, “crests, hats, mugs, posters and T-shirts bearing slogans such
as ‘End of an Era’, and ‘Lost Heritage’” proliferated in Collingwood stores
(EB, 17/9/1986, p. 1a). James Holloway wanted to save the yard whistle. In a letter
to the mayor and town council, Holloway wrote: “I propose that the town retain
the shipyard whistle, that has sounded at intervals daily for so many years. This
is a tradition, which is so familiar to everyone in town and the surrounding area.
It could serve as a commemorative to what originally built this town (Holloway,
1986) [emphasis added]. Memorabilia was not, however enough. Collingwood had
lost the body that housed its soul. Alex Besse, who had been working to secure
industrial transition money from the Federal government, put a fine point on the
bereavement felt by Collingwood:
None of these measures are adequate to replace the loss we have suffered
today. Shipbuilders are shipbuilders and Collingwood’s heritage has been a
shipbuilding heritage for over 100 years. (EB, 27/8/1986, p. 3a)
The closure of the shipyard on September 12, 1986, did not mean the end
of manufacturing in Collingwood. During the late 1960’s and early 1970’s, industry
assistance grants had been extended to firms locating in rural areas. By November
of 1985, Collingwood’s major manufacturing employers held around half of the
employed workforce. LOF Glass, Harding Carpets, Goodyear, Kaufman Furniture,
Nacan, Canadian Mist Distillers, Blue Mountain Pottery, and Goodall Rubber all
reported stable employment conditions into the foreseeable future (EB, 20/11/1985,
p. 1a.). Further, shortly before the official closure of the yard, CSL announced its
intention to build a drafting company in Collingwood and Magna International
announced its intention to build a $45 million plant with the capacity to employ
350 people (EB, 27/8/1986). While these industries served to maintain the
“industrial” character of Collingwood, they did not supply the collective sense of
pride in productivity delivered by shipbuilding. Neither would tourism.
The discourse surrounding the shipyard’s closure revolved substantially
around loss of material and symbolic foundations of Collingwood’s identity that
had established Collingwood early in the 19th century as the region’s economic
engine, and kept it separate from it’s surrounding communities, both of which were
dependent on tourism and agriculture. The closure of the shipyard, not only meant
job loss, but also rocked the foundations of a working class that held the authority
of four generations of civic preeminence. Positioning tourism as a potential
strategic alternative was predicated on the region becoming a coherent four-season
tourist draw, dependent on consumption of the attractive natural environments of
Georgian Bay and the Niagara escarpment – a leisurescape that would be devoid
of reference to Collingwood’s capacity for industrial independence. Throughout
the late 1980’s and 1990’s, shipbuilding gradually slipped into “history” as it became
evident that it would not return.
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Tiré de : Loisir et société / Society and Leisure, vol. 24, no 1, Gaétan Ouellet et André Thibault (dir.).Industry of Last Resort: Negotiating Admissible Identities in “Leisurescape” 291
Recovering shipbuilding as “heritage” has not been part of Collingwood’s
attempts to boost its tourism industry. Rather, promotion of special events and
development of residential capability to support exploration of the surrounding
natural “leisurescape” has been the primary focus of development. However,
shipbuilding icons have continued to play the role of identifying Collingwood to
both internal and external constituencies as more than a location to be consumed,
or a as a base to consume from. Shipbuilding icons found contemporary resonance
in debates about who’s town Collingwood really was. Shipbuilding “heritage”
offered a way to resist the submergence of manufacturing industry and it’s
attendant implications of economic independence, under the weight of leisurescape
driven by demographic fragmentation and the emergence of resort complexes.
While new manufacturing industry was presented with the subtext “just
because shipping is gone, we are still an industrially strong people” official and
media attention began focusing on the potential of tourism to recover Collingwood’s
sense of regional preeminence. During the postwar period into the 1980’s,
“tourism” was seen as of limited economic benefit to Collingwood, as opposed
to neighboring Wasaga Beach’s almost total dependence. Further, tourism was
something that was dependent on the existence of God-given nature rather than
the expression of collective productivity. Something that meant face-to-face
dependence on Toronto’s middle class as opposed to the staunch and defiant
independence of an industrial aristocracy. While attractive for its potential of
economic spin-off, embracing tourism implied a degree of failure for many
Collingwood residents.
During the postwar period, “tourism” for Collingwood meant skiers. The
progressive growth in numbers of beach oriented or semi-wilderness/rural cottagers
largely occurred outside of Collingwood’s municipal borders in Meaford,
Thornbury and Wasaga Beach. Skiers, however, came closer to home. Beginning
as early as 1936 and, up until the mid-late 1960’s, Blue Mountain operated as a
small, low volume, technologically unsophisticated ski destination. The pre-1970’s
history of the resort, recorded and published by it’s founder’s (Jozo Weider) son
George Weider (1990), was a history of the grit and imagination of an Austrian
immigrant and his vision to build a ski village progressively from capital generated
by skiing. There is not space here to recount in detail the struggles for financial
survival that characterized the postwar and pre-ski boom years. However, it is
necessary to emphasize how much Jozo’s pragmatism, creativity and energy
underpinned the resort’s personal relations with it’s clientele and surrounding
communities. Through and into the 1970’s, the resort bore all the characteristics
of a family operation: small intimate lodges, crude but serviceable equipment and
leisurely and friendly ski competition.
However, relations with surrounding communities were cool. Weider was
not granted a liquor license for the resort, partly due to the conservatism of the
agricultural community that controlled the township of Collingwood. As the
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volume of skiers gradually increased during the 1960’s, so too did the level of
enmity between Collingwood residents and skiers, and thereby the hill. Collingwood
residents grudgingly tolerated skiers as a simple nuisance that attracted the
derogatory label “sliders.” “Sliders” crowded roads, grocery stores, and emergency
wait lines at the Collingwood hospital. They were numerous during the winter
months, but did not pose a substantial threat to Collingswood’s internal identity
as an industrial center. If anything, the skiers confirmed that identity by the stark
difference in wealth as well as their reason for being there – consumption, not
production. George Weider recounted the enmity that continued into the 1980’s:
Many of the town’s people and merchants resented the outsiders who tramped
into restaurants and stores in ski-suits and heavy boots. “We definitely had
the feeling that we were not wanted when we tried to book into the Arlington
for the weekend”, remembers Ted Harrison, who has been skiing at Blue
Mountain with his wife Gertrude since 1947. “We quickly learned that the
best thing to do was arrive in business clothes; if we had ski jackets on we
might be told that all the rooms were taken.” (Weider, 1990, p. 60)
The cultural gulf between these urban “tourists” and local agricultural and
industrial communities was partly associated with their non-contributory roles.
Skiers were not building anything. They viewed the region as a “leisurescape,”
free of any reference to the primacy of productive independence characterizing
host perceptions, the evidence for which was their generally disrespectful and
rowdy behavior. This being said, the resort and its clientele were only socially
marginalized during the early years, not demonized. Shipyard workers helped to
construct the original lift gear, local residents casually worked at the hill. Further,
marginalization was not complete. The resort astutely allowed locals to ski for $2
on designated days, which helped to dampen enmity through familiarity and access.
When Jozo died in 1971, the resort operations reverted to the family. Under
the leadership of Gordon Canning and George Weider, the resort progressively
added to its technological and real estate sophistication to keep up with demands
from the skiing public. Adding to the 20-room two-story inn at the base of the
mountain, new developments in the 1970’s included expansion of lifts, lighting,
base lodge, snow-making equipment, administration offices and a mini-bobsled
run over 2000 feet long. The 1980’s saw the building of a 103-unit five star-hotel,
a water slide on the mountain and a new chair lift. During 1985, the resort also
obtained zoning permission from Collingwood Township for development of a
resort village – part of Jozo’s original vision. While the village concept did not
become a concrete and financed plan until 1999, substantial residential and
recreational development of the land surrounding the base lodge (outside of
Collingwood’s borders), development that occurred primarily because of the ski
hill and summer recreational attractions, continued through the 1980’s and 1990’s.
During this period, many urban people settled in Collingwood; these urban
refugees or new settlers were known locally as seasonal “part-timers” “commuters”
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and “retirees.” Whatever their differences, they all had the consumption of
Collingwood’s location in the Georgian Triangle as their primary rationale for
buying homes there.
The years between 1986 and 1991, peaking in 1989 saw the most explosive
growth ever in residential development. By late 1986, just months after the
shipyard closed, resort developers had noticed, “there were 625 condominiums
sold in the previous ten years. This year 300 units have been sold” (EB, 17/12/
1986). According to local real estate agents, the wave of development occurring
in the late 1980’s was primarily fueled by developer speculation about the
propensity for baby boomers and retirees to consume “leisurescape” in comfort
corresponding to urban levels. The late 1980’s was arguably the beginning of
Collingwood’s cultural fragmentation.
In spite of the promise that Collingwood could become an “Aspen of the
North”, the shift in emphasis was not easy or unopposed, as demonstrated by the
discourse surrounding the most symbolically important of those developments. In
search of something to help dampen the pain of the shipyard closure, Collingwood’s
mayor began extolling the virtues of tourism, as an industry that could perpetually
supply service jobs, albeit, not paid as well as unionized shipbuilding. More
importantly, gearing up to service tourism’s residential demands would require
residential construction, and that would require the skills of workers previously
employed at the shipyard, particularly welders and cabinetmakers. Cognizant of
Collingwood’s ambivalence and potential hostility toward tourism, the industrial
development commissioner began preparing the town for what was to come in his
comments about efforts to attract more industry “heavier than a breadbox” to the
harbor-front.
A harbor-front high-density condominium/marina development would also
be ideal. I’m not saying industry would be best or tourism would be best, I
just want it used to its potential. (EB, 27/8/86, p. 2a(ii))
The harbor front’s “potential” became the focus of an at times heated debate
which would last for the next fifteen years. Two days before the official closure,
rumors of CSL’s proposal to develop the land for tourism hit the front page of the
Enterprise Bulletin (EB, 10/9/1986, p. 1a). Just over seven months later, detailed
plans were released. The space containing the soul of Collingwood, the harbor,
would soon become a massive residential complex supporting the area’s tourism.
The $80 million plan included “a 250-room hotel and conference center, a shopping
plaza, two office buildings, a 107 slip marina and up to 450 condominiums” which
would “extend the town to the water” (EB, 4/3/1987). Perhaps the most important
aspect of the development was that it’s “focal point” would be a Lake Freighter
permanently moored at the location, probably the Fort Henry (EB, 4/3/1987), a
461-foot vessel launched from Collingwood in 1954 and retired in 1979 due to
her fuel consumption (Gillham, 1992, p. 110). The Fort Henry “could contain a
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restaurant, a theatre, marine museum and an exhibit center.” The plan also included
retention and restoration of the machine shop and boiler room to house “stores and
boutiques.” Equally important, ex-shipbuilders could be employed as construction
workers (EB, 4/3/1987).
Town council was unanimous in its support of the proposal. It not only meant
good tax revenues from the site, but also a goodly amount of direct employment
and subsequent income for the community from “tourist” occupants. The chairman
of Collingwood’s Industrial and Tourism Commission commented, “this is really
going to put Collingwood on the map… This splendid plan is going to make us
the Aspen of the north” (EB, 4/3/1987, p. 2a).
Terms such as “awesome”, “wonderful” and “exciting” were used by the
council to describe the development. The placement of the ship meant Collingwood
would retain its identity as an heroic shipbuilder and industrial center. The town’s
Reeve commented: “I think when the public gets a good look at it there won’t be
too many complaints about what’s being planned. I like the idea of a ship being
there, I always wanted a ship at the end of the street, now my dream is being
realized” (EB, 4/3/1987).
The council’s planning committee approved the project a week later,
contingent on the results of environmental impact, parking and traffic studies
(EB, 11/3/1987, p. 1a). The Provincial Treasurer, Robert Nixon, “an avid skier
often in the Blue Mountains [was] pleased with the leaps in the Tourism industry
in Collingwood” (EB, 4/3/1987, p. 3a). By November, a number of studies had
been conducted, primarily revolving around the competitive impact of the plan as
well as the viability of its components to support themselves. The ship proved not
to “represent strong economic value to the developer and is thus contingent on the
awarding of a grant under the Federal/Provincial tourism assistance program”
(EB, 4/11/1987, p. 1a). The Provincial Treasurer was not pleased enough, however,
to successfully assist approval of funding for the ship.
Apparently symbolic value to Collingwood was good enough to preempt
effective criticism about the conversion of the shipyard for tourism, but once that
had been accomplished, the ship as well as other heritage features were edged out
of the picture. The total bill for the heritage and convention center elements of the
plan came to approximately $6 million for the government to bear. This included
half the cost of the ship at $1.5 million, $0.5 million for the refurbishment of the
machine shop and boiler room, and $4 million for the convention center inside
CSL’s hotel. Formerly the chairman of Collingwood’s Industrial and Tourism
Commission, now CSL’s development representative, Alex Besse declared of the
chances of the submission “if this doesn’t qualify, then what on earth would”
(EB, 2/12/1987, p. 11a)?
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Qualification was not the issue, however. Following revision of the plan by
a new team of development consultants conducting further viability studies, the
ship concept was sinking. During successive meetings in late 1988 and early 1989,
proposed housing units more than doubled. The ship and its theatre disappeared
from serious consideration, and doubt was being cast on the probability of a
convention center. Some hope remained for the use of the machine and boiler
buildings (EB, 28/9/1988; 26/11/1988; 21/1/1989). Council’s concerns about
public access, sewerage capacity, sight lines, density and building height continued
to attract their scrutiny (EB, 10/5/1989). The council did however pass the needed
bylaws to rezone the shipyard as residential/commercial property and placed the
development application in a “holding pattern” (EB, 26/7/1989).
In spite of unanimous council support for the CSL proposal, tourism vs
industry discourse continued throughout the late 1980’s and into the 1990’s. The
terms of that discourse had to do with material and symbolic effects of tourism
and the capability of Collingwood to express it’s independence through the benefits
to Collingwood as well as autonomy of identity that industry could bring to
Collingwood. Following three years of intensive recreational property development
in Collingwood, and shortly after the first physical model of the proposal was put
on display, Peter Stransky mounted a campaign to raise money for a sustained
Ontario Municipal Board appeal of the harbor-front rezoning:
Whereas a lot of we local people quite like our small town community, after
our needs come first, the needs of urbanites and tourists and those who would
urbanize our community come next … Let it be known that I the undersigned
am not prepared to sell our lifestyle to a developer who proposes so little
benefit to the people of Collingwood. (EB, 6/1/88, p. 5a).
Tourism for Stransky threatened the needs of Collingwood’s industrial
working class. Although harbor-front recreational residential properties had been
expanding for some time, the hallowed CSL site proposal brought the matter to a
head. Given the industrial resonance of the shipbuilding site, it’s proposed
replacement with a massive condominium complex represented an attack on the
working class:
Most people feel that the council should be more responsive to the local
citizen’s needs such as affordable housing first and outsiders second.
(EB, 3/2/88)
Stransky’s efforts to put up a “wall of Collingwood” (EB, 13/1/88), flagged
the gulf between productive “insiders” and consuming “outsiders” building in intensity
along with the wave of development that hit Collingwood in the late 1980’s. The
Enterprise Bulletin’s editor was prompted to call on town officials and executives
to deal with a “dichotomy” that threatened to split the town in two:
Two separate economic societies are developing – separate but unequal. One
side worships the god of tourism, bowing down to its feet; the other the
industrial sector, unbending, unyielding… Tourism, along with our existing
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commercial sector seems to be holding the economic umbrella over the town,
but after the buildings are built, where will the construction jobs go? How
many more condominiums can Collingwood sustain? The land is after all
a finite commodity attempting to feed the insatiable, infinite appetite of
developers serving the needs of buyers who want the recreational amenities
Collingwood offers. (EB, 7/2/1989)
This rift however had been acknowledged much earlier by town officials who
were careful to ensure that “industry” continued to receive accolades as Collingwood’s
foundation of defiant independence even in the wake of the shipyard’s demise. In
an article titled “Collingwood means industry at its best” The Enterprise Bulletin’s
editor commented of the town’s recent public relations efforts on behalf of industry
during 1988 that:
This area is alive with industry. We send everything from wheels to spirits
and pottery to many places on this earth. The fear that Collingwood would
fold if the Shipyards ever closed was tossed out long ago … We have candles,
pottery, wood stoves, boats, seat belts, windshield, carpets, whisky and much
much more. Collingwood does not take a backseat to anyone when it comes
to industry… It is the worker that keeps us high on the industrial map. It is
the worker that produces the top-notch products that has people thinking about
this area. (EB, 31/8/89)
In spite of attempts to assure residents that their interests were not being
subsumed beneath those of “tourists,” the proposed CSL development continued
to come under attack. On September 21, 1991 a revised proposal was brought to
a Collingwood community meeting. Five years of revisions to the original proposal
saw substantial change and the residents of Collingwood were not pleased. The
new proposal included two high-rise condominium and hotel complexes as well
as an expanded number of high-density housing units, a marina and shopping areas.
Sight lines and public access to the harbor were extremely restricted and no
provision was made for the placement of a Collingwood ship or the boiler and
maintenance buildings.
The presenters of the plan were dressed in suits and presented the
sophistication of their project modeled on Boston’s harbor front, as something that
would make Collingwood a world-class four-season tourist destination. These
factors, in addition to the organization of the question period, which reserved
responses to questions as a “rebuttal” at the end, created a substantial social
distance, reminiscent of that between skiers and residents, between the plan’s
promoters and the town. Even though the town council had approved the
development, the audience tore the proposal to shreds. Nine of the twelve people
asking questions or making statements joined Stransky in their opposition to the
development. Issues substantially revolved around symbolic and physical access
to Collingwood’s hallowed site with particular emphasis on the loss of “heritage”
represented in the quashed ship and building preservation. The transcript of that
meeting shows that “heritage” was not anachronistic, but was itself in defiance of
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handing Collingwood over to consumption without production (Town of
Collingwood, 1991). Amidst successive minority claims that a “world class”
waterfront would put Collingwood on the map, came the majority voices claiming
the right to access, heritage artifacts and consideration for further industrial
development. One commentator went straight to the heart of the matter arguing
that the development may put a permanent rift between productive residents and
consuming newcomers:
I’m really concerned over the long haul that we will develop (and I see it to
a certain extent now) a “we/they” mentality in our community. “We” the
people, live in a community that we work, and “they” the people that come
here for a weekend and part-time. (p.27)
CSL re-submitted its proposal in 1994, which met with similar resistance,
and has not yet returned to it.
Shipbuilding as “heritage”
Controversy over the CSL development located itself squarely in ongoing tensions
about the relative attractiveness of manufacturing industry vs. tourism, which were
now almost a decade old. The proposal threatened to extinguish artifacts of lived
relations now articulated as “heritage” objects, but heritage objects with sign-
ification of contemporary relevance to struggles over ownership of Collingwood’s
identity. We are able to observe that proposed commodification of heritage
consumption was not seen to necessarily kill off “real” heritage. In this case,
symbolically important infrastructure was only maintainable through its use to
contain functions that directly served leisurescape. Dedifferentiated heritage could
have prevented complete revision to leisurescape by unifying contradictory icons
in a way that would enable local/global negotiation of what Shields referred to as
“normative codes of spatiality” (Shields, 1991). In Collingwood’s case, codes of
spatiality that excluded it’s industrial roots threatened to cut the community off
from its iconic source and the platform from which to resist the undercutting
of it’s sense of independence, something that was not lost on a small group of
community activists, one of whom successfully ran for council in order to protect
the public’s symbolic interests. During the 1990’s, the municipality progressively
acquired all non-developed harbor-front land culminating in the 1999 receipt of
$252,000 for redevelopment of the acquired properties (EB 10/4/99, p. A1).
Motivation for this sustained action was stimulated by the threat that the CSL
proposal posed to longtime Collingwood residents’ physical and symbolic access
to their definitive site. The proposed development (officially opened as the
“Millennium” site in June 2000 immediately following the last visioning session)
potentially represented the final chapter to the harbor-front’s icon wars. However,
the density and diversity of discourse imbedded in the visioning sessions to come
demonstrated that final settlement needed to occur in context of the whole town,
not just one confined area of real estate.
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New developments in the 1980s and 1990s had already converted substan-
tial portions of harbor space to private condo consumption. If the harbor was not
retrieved soon, only the wealthy would be able to enjoy it, and no negotiation of
it’s “heritage” meaning would occur. The CSL property, arguably the jewel in the
harbor crown and located directly at the end of the main street, remains out of
municipal hands and its development directions uncertain.
The development crash of the early 1990’s put a dent in the town’s
expectation of an immediate tourism El Dorado, but did not deter preparations for
what most thought was inevitable. In fact, population growth continued with
immigrants from the city, and the popularity of skiing continued to grow. With
the exception of its ski village requiring massive capitalization from an appropriate
partner, Blue Mountain’s executives saw little reason to slow its ambitious
expansion plans begun in the 1970’s. Municipal preparation for what was
understood as an inevitable transformation in its economic and residential identity
included major upgrades to its parks and walkways, installation of an extensive
trail system and construction of a new water-treatment plant. The continued influx
of new and formerly urban residents meant the stimulation of an environmental
consciousness that had been afforded very little voice in earlier periods. Further,
the Provincially sponsored environmental Remedial Action Plan provided a
platform for the establishment and renovation of parklands and areas of environ-
mental significance.
The town was also successful in attracting major events such as equestrian
competitions as well as the Elvis Festival, the latter of which was and continues
to be capable of attracting around 20,000 visitors annually. By the late 1990’s side
launching was no longer what Collingwood was known for. Its environment,
capable of simultaneously supporting a safe and leisurely lifestyle as well as
the “Aspen of the north” had, at least externally according to Outdoor Magazine
(EB, 29/6/99, p. A1), become Collingwood’s main attraction.
With the fragmentation of its economic underpinnings as well as its
population base we might have expected a substantial degree of gentrification
flagged by the proliferation of café’s, boutiques, and widespread retrofitting of
downtown residential property. However, new development has largely occurred
in relatively self-contained locations and manufacturing employment has remained
steady throughout the 1990’s, due in large part to the continuing commitment of
town executives to the industrial community and its working class constituency,
resulting in efforts to attract and retain manufacturing industries.
Further, the “old guard” of shipbuilding, is still alive and revered. Now
represented by the “Quarter Century Club” comprised of shipyard workers with
twenty-five years or more of service, they continued throughout the 1990’s to meet
annually in celebration of their industrial fraternity. The continuing and broad
based resonance of the heroic shipbuilding identity can be seen through the
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